


I Blame Cockles for My Sunglasses Kink

by rosie_berber



Series: Tuesday Topsy Turvy Tropes! [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Day At The Beach, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Mindless Fluff, No Angst, OTP Feels, One True Pairing, Sunglasses, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:19:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7662829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_berber/pseuds/rosie_berber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I think a lot of the time, the origins of desire are very complicated. In this case, the cause of my sunglasses kink is very, very clear, and it's how damn good Cockles look in them. This fic is dedicated to all the sunglasses that have had the privilege of resting upon the bridge of either of those men's noses.</p><p>Prompt: What would a Destiel fic be without mentioning either of those beautiful sets of eyes? In this short little fic, Dean and Cas go to visit Sam and have a very cute day on the beach. And the author challenges herself to not speak the colours green or blue, to not talk of lingering glances and eye-sex. A challenge for the ages! If you are looking for angst or conflict, move along, because this is just good feels the whole way through!</p><p>Comes from the idea that it would be fun to invert certain beloved Destiel tropes and see where it leads these characters (hint: it's still to fall madly in love with one another!) </p><p>Tumble along with <a href="http://rosie-berber.tumblr.com/">me!</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Blame Cockles for My Sunglasses Kink

**Author's Note:**

> For a visual reference of my hysteria, please see [Exhibit A](http://rosie-berber.tumblr.com/post/148360251703/destiel-is-cockles-fault-inacatastrophicmind) and [Exhibit B](http://rosie-berber.tumblr.com/post/148360535263/aniciakm-jensen-why-am-i-doing-this).
> 
> I am total trash for these two. I love you all for humouring me.

 

          The last bit of coffee trickles down Dean’s throat before he puts his mug in the dishwasher with the rest of their breakfast dishes. As he shuts the appliance’s door he turns to find his partner, two cups of coffee to his credit, with his head tucked between his arms, face firmly pressed against the table.

 

          “I know it’s early, Cas, but we need to beat traffic if we want to be in Palo Alto by noon,” Dean reminds the nocturnal wonder he is blessed to call his boyfriend. The two were about to make the trek from their cabin in Willow Creek to visit Sam in Stanford - six solid hours of driving. But Dean hadn’t seen his baby brother since he had started law school that fall; Sam forcefully demanded no distractions and Dean reluctantly acquiesced. He even tried to humour his brother during their call the previous week, where the nerd couldn’t contain his enthusiasm about how much he was looking forward to spending his spring break catching up on course reading in his cramped one bedroom apartment. Wild and crazy kid, that guy. But, due to a quality Dean referred to as perseverant that others _might_ call insufferable, Sam reluctantly agreed that a staycation in Stanford, entailing a visit from his big brother and his boyfriend and yes, even some time spent _outdoors_ _without law books,_ might be a good thing. Provided they agreed to get a hotel where they could hump like bunnies, because walking in on them once was enough for a lifetime for Sam Winchester.

 

          And so Dean was up before the crack of dawn, ensuring he and Castiel had everything they needed for their trip. He was showered, shaved and stirring pancake batter all before five, when Castiel’s alarm first went off. At 5:30, by the time Castiel had hit snooze no less than four times already, Dean did his early bird duty and went to their room, scooping Castiel out of bed and handing him acceptable clothing to wear. If trusted to dress himself in his current state, Castiel would probably end up on the beach in a ski vest and tuxedo pants. Even still, he came to the breakfast table with his t-shirt inside out and his hair going in every direction simultaneously. All of this is to say that when Dean gently, politely reminded Castiel they needed to be hitting the road, he wasn’t exactly shocked by the response.

 

          “Hrrrrrrrrmpppphhhh,” moaned the limbs and mess of hair at the table, still unenthused to meet the day. Dean made his way around the kitchen to the man’s side, crouching over to place a gentle kiss amongst his stubble. The small token of affection is enough to make Cas turn his head, a small smile creeping across his face.

 

          “There’s more where that came from, once you get rid of your awful morning breath,” Dean teases.

 

          “Mean,” Castiel retorts, batting a hand in Dean’s general direction, missing completely.

 

          “He speaks!” Dean shouts, dragging the sleepwalking man towards the bathroom to brush his teeth. Once his breath smells like spearmint, Castiel manages to convince his body to walk out of the front door instead of making a beeline back towards the bed. He moves in a zombie like trance towards the car, asleep again with his head plastered against the window before Dean has even put the Impala in drive.

 

xxxxx

 

          Their bags in the trunk, cooler fully stocked, and a decidedly non-morning person at his side, Dean starts driving. The sun already brightly burns in the sky, prompting Dean to fetch his wayfarers from the console. Once he is sure Castiel is sound asleep, Dean pops in one of his favourite cassettes, and happily greets the open road ahead.

 

          The sun has been beating down on his left arm for hours, giving him that super sexy driver’s tan when Castiel first wakes. He mumbles what Dean assumes is “are we there yet,” although it sounds a bit more like “hurry wear hats" coming from the passenger’s mouth.

 

          “Morning, angel. We’re just about halfway. I was just about to pull off and grab some gas. Can I get you anything? Possibly something that will help you regain full consciousness?” Castiel half-heartedly tries to kick towards Dean, only hurting himself in the process. He nods pathetically in the driver’s direction. Moments later, they exit the highway, entering the parking lot of a Gas N Sip. Blinded by the bright light peering through a cloudless sky, Castiel grabs his sunglasses from the glove compartment. Dean remembers when he got the particular pair. It was a few years ago in San Francisco, the sun as insistent as it was today. Castiel ducked into a thrift shop, grabbing the first pair of shades he found. “Ten bucks!” he announced proudly as they left the store. And of course, the oxford lenses with pearly grey frames looked unfairly perfect on him. Still do.

 

          “I’ve got gas, you get snacks,” Cas grumbles.

 

          “You could have … found a better way to phrase that,” Dean responds, walking away from the Impala towards the convenience store. The last thing he sees before he enters is a fully grown man with sex hair sticking his tongue out at him. _That shouldn’t look so good._

 

          Castiel manages to stay awake for a full hour while drinking his extra large coffee and eating the surprisingly fresh croissant Dean had purchased for him. But by ten, once again he had fallen prey to the comforting purr of Baby beneath him, drifting off to sleep. He wouldn’t wake again until nudged by Dean, the Impala in park.

 

          The driver, no worse for the wear after six (almost) solitary hours on the road, is beaming like a kid on Christmas morning, his reunion with Sam now only steps away. Castiel didn’t think he could love Dean anymore, but what he feels in the light of Dean’s unencumbered joy proves otherwise. And so he smiles warmly towards his partner as he announces with gusto, “Cas - we’re here!”  

 

xxxxx

 

          Castiel swears, Sam has grown _even taller_ since the last time they saw him. They share what might be called a “bro-hug” (there is a significant amount of back-slapping) before the brothers themselves find themselves in a shameless embrace.

 

          “It’s so good to see you guys,” Sam says in a voice too sincere for any future litigator. “How was the drive? Are you guys thirsty? Tired? Hungry?” The eagerness to accommodate is a family trait, Castiel remembers. He looks well, despite Dean’s fierce worry that he was working himself to death. But he has changed. His face is no longer shaved clean, and his long locks are pulled into a bun atop his head. _Dean is going to give him hell for that,_  Castiel thinks.

 

          “Good to see you too Sammy. I’m good - just need to see a man about a horse. Where’s your john?” Sam gestures to the small hallway, and Dean gives him one more hug before he departs. Leaving Castiel and Sam alone to trade awkward grins. They cared for each other, but had grown accustomed to the buffer that was Dean, sometimes finding it difficult to make conversation in his absence.

 

          “How are you finding your program?” Castiel prompts, desperately wanting to fill the void.

 

          “Good - a lot more work than I thought, but I really like it. Have made some good connections. Just started volunteering in the local law clinic, which has been great. Been bullied by Dean to make sure I keep some sort of life outside of the books too, which is probably actually good for me. How’s work?”

 

          “Oh, the conservatory is great. I’m going on a six week field placement soon, which I am excited about. Studying blueberries and bees. It should be fascinating.”

 

          The two are saved the pain of follow-up questions when Dean emerges from the bathroom, wielding a pair of shears in his hands. He takes off towards Sam, yelling out “I have to Sam! I have to! A MAN BUN? This is what happens when you don’t see me for six months?"

 

          Sam promptly puts his brother into a headlock and wrestles him to the ground, forcing Dean to relinquish the weapon to the "hipster hippie."

 

xxxxx

 

          An hour later, the Impala comes to a stop alongside a sandy strand of beach lining the Pacific. The trio trod out in tees and trunks, lugging the cooler (resupplied with ice and, begrudgingly, with some craft beer of Sam’s), some beach chairs and towels. Castiel carries a bag that Dean insists on calling his purse filled with sunscreen and snacks and books, all of which he refuses to share with his tormentor. Until, of course, Dean gives him sweet little pecks to put him back in his good graces.

 

          They park themselves on the beach, no sooner having laid out their towels when Sam sheds his t-shirt and runs with all of the glee of a golden retriever towards the water, quickly wading in. Dean hesitates before following, torn between his brother flopping around in the ocean and his partner, organizing all their items _just right_. It takes Castiel straight up pushing him towards the ocean before Dean relents, stripping his t-shirt off and departing after a quick kiss of reassurance.

 

          As Dean walks towards the water, Castiel takes the opportunity to blatantly objectify him. He starts with the broad sturdy shoulders, then works his way down his impossibly toned back. His mind has trouble moving on from his ass, musculature visible through his swimsuit. Castiel thinks about how much fun he has had with that particular part of Dean’s anatomy, letting out an audible sigh of contentment before moving on. He completes his ogling with Dean’s legs. He remembers the first time he complimented them. It was in a moment of post-coital bliss, when Castiel’s usual taciturn nature was nowhere to be found, where he praised every part of Dean’s body as a gift from God. When he got to his legs, Dean recoiled, his silence an accusation that Castiel was exaggerating. He finally confessed his insecurity over the angle of those limbs, thinking it to be a near deformity. To which Castiel responded not with words, but by travelling across each and every square inch with his lips and tongue, lavishing love upon them. And so, when he sees those legs fade from view, disappearing below the water, Castiel’s heart mourns the loss.

 

xxxxx

 

          A salty sting burns through Dean’s nostrils, courtesy of the juvenile dunk for which he was woefully unprepared. When his face emerges from underwater, a few briny coughs make their way from his lungs before he can speak. But when he does, he mutters his opinion on Sam’s sneak attack. _“Bitch.”_ Sam’s laugh is boundless as he runs in slow motion, submerged to his thighs, trying to escape his older brother’s wrath. Neither is willing to relent, continuously wrestling through the waves like a pair of adolescents, as if to make up for all the trips to the beach they never had as kids. After a particularly disapproving look from a group of waders none too happy to have been on the receiving end of the enormous splash of Sam’s body into the water, the two call a truce, slowly making their way back towards the shore.

          Castiel is immersed in his favourite edition of the _Columbia Poetry Review_ when he is greeted by two dripping bodies adorned with identical tattoos, closing the journal after two wet circles travel from Dean’s body onto his current page. He turns his attention to the man hovering over him, swiping at the lengths of his body with a towel while waging a passionate protest. _Sam plays dirty_ , Dean insists. _It’s unfair to have to try to fight off a Sasquatch_ , he implores. His complaints are a convenient code - a defense mechanism. Having a carefree day with Sam is a piece of Dean’s paradise. Of course, the only way he can express that is by doing nothing but grumbling faux-hostilities about how _annoying_ his little brother is. Sam, for his part, who has lived a lifetime unearthing the sincerity beneath Dean’s sarcasm, is having none of it.

 

          “It’s great having you here Dean. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

 

          Dean acknowledges the statement by giving Sam’s shoulder a quick squeeze. He’d insist it was the intensity of the mid-day sun that was turning his cheeks red, but both Sam and Castiel know better. There is nothing in this world Castiel wants for Dean more than for him to feel okay _feeling_. But there have been strides over the years - things that may be imperceptible to others, but that he has stood witness to, growth within Dean of which he is so very proud. So he doesn’t mock or lecture Dean’s shame at Sam’s sentimentality, he doesn’t push him to offer words back. Instead, he grabs Dean’s hand to help himself to his feet. “I’m hungry. Let’s go grab some food.” The tension in Dean’s face dissipates when he is offered the distraction.

 

xxxxx

 

          An impromptu contest to see who could eat a hot dog quicker (Dean won, surprising neither) has left each of the men’s stomachs feeling a bit bloated as they walk back towards the younger Winchester. Dean passes his fingers over his stomach, lamenting his “dad bod.” His descent into self-loathing is stopped by an abrupt, firm kiss as Castiel wraps both his arms around Dean’s neck, all while impressively keeping a firm grip on Sam’s hot dog. He only relents from the very public display of affection once Dean promise “not to talk about his boyfriend like that,” earning an exasperated, appreciative sigh.

 

          It’s not difficult to relocate Sam on the crowded beach (sometimes the giant’s height really was a blessing), noticing he is not alone, but rather, drinking and laughing along with two women.

 

          “Way to go Sammy,” Dean whispers to Castiel, proud of his brother’s seemingly great advancements in the art of seduction.

 

          “Dean, Cas!” Sam waves maniacally as the two men approach. “I want you guys to meet some friends from school.” Sam wraps his arm around a woman with bright red hair in a golden bikini that looked similar to … it couldn’t be … _it was -_ an homage to a certain galactic princess that may have been a major player in Dean’s adolescent fantasies. An awkward, endearing smirk crawls across the redhead’s face, who tilts her head to the shoulder of the other woman - a brunette in a vintage blue and white gingham one-piece. “Dean, meet Charlie. And Charlie’s girlfriend, Dorothy.”

 

          “Great to meet you ladies!" He twists the caps off two beers, passing one to Castiel, taking a long, thirst-quenching drink before speaking again. "How do you know my much less attractive brother?” Dean asks, never able to resist a little harmless flirting. Sam deals up some grade A bitchface at the comment. Dean ignores him, falling into effortless conversation with the couple, leaving Castiel awkwardly shifting his feet in the sand, still holding the encased meat he had purchased for Sam. He shoves the hot dog forward as an offering, Sam kindly accepting.

 

          “Dean said he needed to balance out your usual diet of rabbit food.”

 

          “Of course he did,” Sam manages to mutter between bites.

  
xxxxx

 

          In the afterglow of several beers each, Charlie and Dorothy manage to recruit Sam to play in a beach volleyball match, greeted as heroes by the rest of their team for acquiring someone of such stature. It leaves Castiel and Dean to enjoy some alone time together. They settle in to read (Castiel had recently bought a used copy of _Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency_ for Dean, hoping he would like it). Castiel rests his head on the other man’s stomach, satisfied by the vibrations he can feel pass from Dean’s body to his own whenever he stumbles upon a funny bit. They spend an hour in companionable silence before the sun beating overhead is too much.

 

          “Dean,” Cas says, turning his head to align his shielded eyes with the other man’s.

          “Yeah?” Dean replies, peeking over the top of the frames, looking impossibly good without even trying.

          “Let’s go for a swim.”

 

          When they wade through the water, it is with an entirely different energy than the antics of Sam and Dean earlier - it is calm, quiet, relaxing. They hold hands while their legs disappear beneath the surface, travelling to the point where they need to begin treading water. They find themselves playing a game of their own invention, immersing themselves underwater, sightlessly searching for one another’s faces to place breathless kisses upon. It is sweet and innocent and in total violation of all pretenses of toughness, and Dean could not care less. Eventually they find themselves floating, Dean lying on his back with Castiel’s head atop his chest, moving across the top of the water as one entity. Castiel can hear Dean’s lungs inhale peaceful breath after peaceful breath, his heart beating gently against his ear in rhythm with the current. He can’t imagine a more beautiful sound.

 

xxxxx

 

          There is a part of Castiel that believes he could happily trade the land for the sea, an eternity of wrinkled fingers and all. But after some time, he can see Dean is getting restless, wanting once more to be near his brother on the shore.

 

          “Race you back to the beach,” Castiel yells mid-dive.

 

          “Cheater,” Dean responds before eagerly immersing himself in the water, fluttering back towards the sand.

 

          They decide to call the competition off after Castiel inadvertently pulls Dean’s trunks down his body, giving a mother playing with her two children nearby quite the eyeful.

 

          Sam opens two bottles for Castiel and Dean as they make their way back towards their little encampment. Charlie and Dorothy are snuggled up into one another as they share a beer. Afternoon wanes into evening, the cooler slowly emptying as the group debates the merits of the different Doctors and the best burger toppings. There is one thing they can all agree upon: Stucky is canon.

 

          Conversation fades as the sun sets over the water, oranges and pinks and blues bleeding into one another. Castiel’s arms and legs are wrapped around Dean, embracing him tightly.

 

          “Today’s been lovely,” he whispers into Dean’s ear.

 

          “Perfect,” Dean responds, taking another long drag of his beer.

 

          “Can we do one more thing, before we go?” Castiel asks, his voice tentative.

 

          “Anything.”

 

          “Can we build a sandcastle?”

 

          Everyone pitches in, building the Great Moondor Estate as the waves begin to creep in further and further on the shore. They knew it would survive for only hours, if they were lucky. But that mattered not to the five builders standing triumphantly, beaming and buzzing over their creation, a digital celluloid commemorating their accomplishment.

 

xxxxx

          The sandcastle washed away around midnight that night, levelled and smoothed by the tide, becoming someone else's sculpture the next day. But it stood on a mantel for a half-century more, in the home of a retired scientist and mechanic.

 

          “That was a lovely day, wasn’t it Dean?”

 

          “It was perfect, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favourite things in fanon is human Cas being grumpy in the mornings. It's a trope I don't think I could ever be without.
> 
> One of my favourite things about Jared is his well-documented past time of wrestling those he loves. A little tribute to that.
> 
> I want to build sandcastles with this crew. And you too. ❤️


End file.
